


Just Like A Circus

by squadrickchestopher



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Developing Friendships, I Blame Tumblr, M/M, Obstacle course, POV Bucky Barnes, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Song: Toxic (Britney Spears), clint listens to britney spears while running obstacle courses, that's a tag? awesome, that's it that's the whole fic, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24639226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher
Summary: The obstacle course itself is relatively simple. Lots of climbing and jumping, rolling and ducking. Bucky has a very dim memory of doing something similar in basic training so many years ago. Except, in basic training, he’s pretty sure they weren’t allowed to dance while on the course.And Clintisdancing. There’s no other word for it.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 24
Kudos: 226





	Just Like A Circus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Midnighter_dc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnighter_dc/gifts).



> Short fic based on [midnightwinterhawk‘s](https://midnightwinterhawk.tumblr.com/) [headcanon](https://midnightwinterhawk.tumblr.com/post/620397608551284737/soft-headcanon) about Clint running SHIELD’s obstacle courses to Britney Spears.

Bucky decides to give up on sleep after waking up in a cold sweat from his third nightmare. He throws back the covers with more force than is really necessary and stares up at the ceiling. “JARVIS,” he says tentatively, still unused to talking to an unseeing, all-knowing entity. Or at least, one that actually talks back.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“What time is it?”

“It is 2AM.”

“Fuck.” Bucky rolls over and looks at the soft light of the city as it comes in through the window. He can still feel the pull of the nightmare, hear the whine of a bone saw, see the unbridled glee on Zola’s face as he detailed _exactly_ what they were going to do to Bucky—

Bucky gets up, goes into the bathroom, and sticks his head under the faucet. The cold water is a shock to his system but it grounds him, wakes him up a little more. Helps chase away the lights and voices and pain that still echo in his head so many years in the future.

“You’re out,” he tells himself, looking up in the mirror. “You made it out.”

He looks like hell, honestly. There’s dark circles under his eyes, and a few days worth of stubble on his face, and his whole face just has a sunken, haunted look to it. Bucky turns his head away and flips the light off, then makes his way out into the dark of his room.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, not sure who exactly he’s talking to, or why he’s even saying it out loud. “I can’t—I don’t want to see that anymore.”

JARVIS makes a sympathetic sound, eerily human. Bucky’s not sure what to make of it. “If I may make a suggestion, Sergeant.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Agent Barton appears to be having the same issues as you are. He is currently running the obstacle course in the gym. I suspect he would appreciate the company.”

Bucky considers this. Clint’s a decent guy. Not as abrasive as Stark, not as clingy as Steve. Certainly not as scary as Natasha. Bucky likes him well enough. Could be worth checking out. The _obstacle course_ part gives him pause, but he’s pretty sure it won’t be anything like Hydra’s used to be. He doubts Clint will be waiting at the end to punish him for any mistakes made.

Bucky looks at his bed, which promises more nightmares, and shudders. “Okay. I’ll go.”

He pulls on some clothes and pads down the hallway barefoot to the elevator. The gym is towards the bottom of the Tower, on the levels where the Avengers and SHIELD start to blend together. He punches the button and leans against the wall. “JARVIS, how long has he been down there?”

“Not long,” JARVIS says. “No more than an hour.”

Bucky nods and taps his fingers on the wall, curious as to what exactly drove Clint to go run an obstacle course at two in the morning.

_Agent Barton appears to be having the same issues as you are._

He wonders briefly what Clint’s nightmares look like, if they’re as skin-crawling and horrible as his own, if they make him wake up screaming and—

The doors open into the gym, and he loses his train of thought.

The first thing he notes is the music, blasting loud enough to make him wince. It’s some kind of pop song, nothing he knows. Bucky shakes his head and moves away from the speakers, looking around to see where Clint is.

After a moment, he spots him, hanging upside down in the cargo net. There’s three knives in his right hand, a bow hooked over his right arm, and a quiver strapped to his back. As Bucky watches, he holds one of the knives up to his mouth. For one insane moment, Bucky thinks he’s going to stab himself, and he surges forward, arm already extended to climb—

But no. His mouth is moving, and his head is nodding along to the song, and after a second, Bucky realizes that he’s singing. Singing, and holding the knife hilt-up like it’s a microphone. He’s really into it, gesturing and waving his other arm to the point where he almost loses the bow.

Bucky stares at him incredulously. Clint finishes the song and launches all three knives at the same time, sending them tumbling across the room to lodge into the projected target on the wall. Then as the next song starts, he flips himself upright, detangles his legs from the cargo net, and starts climbing up. At the top of the net, he rolls onto the platform and nocks a couple arrows. He draws the bow back to his ear, then freezes as he _finally_ notices Bucky.

They stare at each other, frozen in an awkward moment. Then Clint says something that Bucky can’t hear. Around them, silence descends as the music shuts off. Clint unstrings the bow and sticks the arrows back in the quiver. Then he slings the bow over his shoulder and jumps off the platform, easily catching a nearby cable and sliding down.

“Hey,” he says at the bottom, pulling the bow off his shoulder. “What’s up? Something going on?”

Bucky has a lot of questions about what’s going on, but when he opens his mouth, what comes out is, “I can’t sleep.”

Clint studies him for a moment, then says, “Nightmares again?”

_Again?_

Bucky stares at him. Clint shrugs. “I’ve heard you. You scream sometimes.” He gestures to the course. “Wanna run a couple laps? That usually helps me.”

“Is that why you’re here? Nightmares?”

“Yeah,” Clint says, honest and open. He shrugs. “You know about the New York battle, right? With Loki and the wormhole?”

“I know.” He’s gotten the story in bits and pieces, mostly from Tony, who he expects exaggerates a little bit. But he knows the gist of it. “Loki…he brainwashed you, right?”

Clint nods. “Weird magic shit. Nat knocked me out of it but every once in a blue moon I still get nightmares about it. So I come down here and run a couple laps with Britney. Helps me think. Or not think, really.”

Bucky rubs his forehead, sure he’s going to regret asking this. “Who’s Britney?”

“The music.” He points at the ceiling. “Britney Spears. I always start with _Toxic_ , but then I let JARVIS pick after that. I think you came in around…” He stops. “Wait, how long _were_ you in here?”

“You were singing,” Bucky says. “In the cargo net. With the knife.”

Clint doesn’t look embarrassed about this at all. “Ah, so you heard the end of _Womanizer_. Alright.”

Bucky is fairly sure that Clint is speaking English, but it’s not anything he understands. Clint sighs. “ _Really?_ No one’s introduced you to Britney Spears yet?” When Bucky shakes his head, he sighs again. “Alright. Let me educate you.”

“No, wait,” Bucky protests, because every time Clint says that, Bucky ends up being forced to do something that inevitably confuses him. The whole concept of modern pop culture is just not something that he grasps well.

Not that that ever deters Clint, though. “You’ll like it,” he says, which is what he always says. Sometimes he’s right, but Bucky’ll never admit it. “You liked that other playlist I made for you, right?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Well, Britney’s the queen of that list. She’s my go-to for running this thing.”

“Why?”

“Why not? High energy, good voice, sets a kicking beat.” He points at the course. “You should try it.”

Bucky looks over at the obstacle course. It doesn’t look too hard. Certainly not anything worse than Hydra ever had him do. “You first,” he says, eyeing some of the pieces he’s not sure about. “I haven’t seen this set-up.”

“Sure,” Clint says easily. He picks up a couple knives from the table nearby the door and restocks his quiver.

“How long does it take?” Bucky asks.

“Not long,” Clint says, adjusting one of his hearing aids. “A little under seven minutes for just the basic run through, give or take a few seconds. Depends on the songs.”

“Depends on the _songs?_ ”

“JARVIS,” he calls up. “Queue up…oh, let’s do _3_ and then _Circus_ for me, will you? And reset the course to basic.”

“Certainly, Agent Barton.” There’s some grinding as the floor shifts, and various obstacles unfold and refold themselves.

Clint grins at him and bounces on the balls of his feet. “Ready to watch the magic?”

Bucky makes some kind of helpless _go on_ motion with his metal hand. Clint has this odd talent for knocking him off-balance at every turn, and at this point Bucky’s given up trying to understand him. He’s not entirely sure he wants to, anyway. There’s something inherently charming about the layers of oddness and mystery to Clint. He’s some kind of undefinable puzzle that both fascinates and annoys Bucky in equal measure.

“Sure,” he says, because Clint is apparently waiting for an answer. “I think.”

Clint picks up one of the knives and grips it in his hand, testing the heft of it. “Alright. Hit it, JARVIS.”

A woman’s voice fills the room, loud and…computerized, almost. Clint sings into the knife handle, perfectly in sync, other hand flipping up fingers in time with the words.

_One, two, three_

_Not only you and me_

_Got one eighty degrees_

_And I’m caught in between_

Bucky stares at him, vaguely aware that his mouth is hanging open. Clint finishes the opening of the song, winks, then backflips onto the raised platform behind him, throwing the knife at the same time. It lands on the target, and he moves on without missing a beat.

The course itself is relatively simple. Lots of climbing and jumping, rolling and ducking. Bucky has a very dim memory of doing something similar in basic training so many years ago. Except, in basic training, he’s pretty sure they weren’t allowed to _dance_ while on the course.

And Clint _is_ dancing. There’s no other word for it. He’s intently focused, never missing a step, but he’s also pretty clearly moving to the music, twisting his body and moving his feet in time with the song. It’s hypnotizing, in a way. Bucky can’t take his eyes off him as he darts around the course, effortlessly climbing obstacles and shooting arrows.

Six and a half minutes later, Clint lands in front of him. His feet touch the floor just as the last note of the second song plays. “Ta-da,” he says, breathing hard, and does an overly dramatic bow.

“Jesus,” Bucky says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “That…”

“I know,” Clint says with a grin. “I’m amazing.”

“You’re _something_ ,” Bucky says, but Clint’s smile is infectious, and he can’t help but return it. “You know you’d be faster if you weren’t dancing.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be nearly as fun.” He gestures to the course. “You wanna try? It really does help.”

Bucky turns to look. “I’m not dancing,” he says.

“We can work up to that.” He points to the weapons locker. “There’s guns over there, if you want to shoot the targets. Otherwise you can just ignore them.”

Bucky goes over and picks out a gun. “I suppose the music is required.”

“Of course.” Clint pulls a water bottle out from his bag and takes a drink. “Any preferences?”

“You’re the one who knows them. You can pick.”

Clint rubs his hands together. “Aw, yeah.”

Bucky has a distinct feeling he’s going to regret that, judging by the sudden gleeful look on Clint’s face, but he also kind of likes that look. So he just sighs and heads to the starting point. “I’m not singing, either.”

“We can work up to that too.” Clint looks up. “JARVIS, start him off with _Toxic_ , as per tradition, and we’ll collaborate from there.”

“As you wish,” JARVIS says, polite as always. “Sergeant Barnes, are you ready?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, and he jumps up to the platform.

It _is_ calming, he realizes as he moves through it. Despite the blaring music, and the adrenaline thrumming through him, he does feel significantly more relaxed by the time his feet land on the ground at the finish line. Or at least, less keyed up than he did a few minutes ago.

Clint is sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. He bursts into applause as soon as Bucky straightens up. “Good work.”

Bucky wipes the sweat off his head and catches the water bottle tossed at him. “Okay, you’re right. That helps.”

“Told you so.” Clint pats the ground next to him. “I used to get up and run, but once we all moved in here, I figured out this was better. More engaging. It’s hard to focus on nightmares when you’re trying to sing and shoot arrows and backflip off shit at the same time.”

“You don’t _have_ to sing,” Bucky points out.

“Yes I do,” Clint says, looking scandalized at the very thought. “It’s _Britney_ , bitch.”

Bucky snorts. “So which songs should I learn? Since you’re the expert and all.”

Clint’s eyes light up. “You serious?”

“Sure.” Bucky can’t really explain why, but he’s interested. Not necessarily in the music itself, but more in having another glimpse into the weird and wonderful mess that is Clint Barton.

“I’ll send you a playlist,” Clint promises. He reaches for his bag and pulls it over, then digs out his phone and starts swiping at it. “I’ll do it right now, I’ve already got one.”

“My phone’s upstairs,” Bucky says. “I’ll look at it later.” He tilts his head towards the course. “Want to race?”

“Definitely,” Clint says, engrossed in whatever he’s doing. He taps a couple more times, then drops the phone into his bag and gets up. “Sure you can keep up?”

“Pretty sure, twinkletoes,” Bucky says, holding out a hand.

Clint laughs as he pulls him up. “You’re on, old man.”

They run the course together three more times. Clint wins two of them—definitely by cheating, despite his protests otherwise. Bucky doesn’t really care, honestly. He can’t remember the last time he had this much fun doing _anything_ , and watching Clint pull off some ridiculous acrobatic moves while singing along just makes it better.

After the third round, they both collapse on the floor. “Okay,” Clint says, wheezing a little. “Two out of three, I win, which means you’re buying the donuts.”

“I don’t remember anything about donuts,” Bucky says, rolling his head to look at him. “When did donuts ever enter this conversation?”

“Two seconds ago.” Clint looks at his watch. “It’s three-thirty, I know a shop that’ll be open.”

“Right now?”

“You got a better idea?”

“I was going to go shower,” Bucky says. “And then maybe try to sleep.”

Clint waves a hand. “Sleep is for the weak. Come get donuts with me.” He looks at his sweat-soaked shirt, and then says, “We can shower first.”

Bucky means to turn him down, honestly. He’s tired, and he thinks he might be able to sleep without nightmares for a bit. But when he opens his mouth, what comes out is, “Okay.”

“Yay,” Clint says, rolling up to his feet. He offers a hand down, and Bucky takes it. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in an hour?”

“Sure.” Bucky tosses him his bag, and they both head to the elevator.

They get off at their respective floors. Bucky immediately goes for his bathroom. “JARVIS,” he says as he strips off his clothes. “Can you play the…whatever he sent me?”

“Certainly, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS replies, which is how Bucky ends up showering to the dulcet tones of Britney Spears. He’s still not entirely sure what to think of her music, but he can’t deny that they’re catchy songs. He’s still humming one of them when he goes into the kitchen, and finds Clint already perched on the counter, drinking coffee and drumming his heels against the cabinets.

Natasha is there too, and she raises an eyebrow as Bucky walks in. “Oh, no.”

Bucky stops humming. “What?”

She looks at Clint. “Are you making him listen to Britney Spears?”

“Hey,” Clint protests. “She’s fabulous. Don’t hate.”

“She is kind of catchy,” Bucky admits, noting the way Clint smiles.

Natasha rolls her eyes.“I will never understand your thing with her,” she says, dropping her own coffee mug in the sink.

“Your judgement is unnecessary and unwelcome,” Clint tells her.

She blows him a kiss before leaving the kitchen. “Let me know if you want good music,” she says to Bucky. “I have some songs you’d probably like.”

“Rude,” Clint calls after her, then turns his attention to Bucky. “Donuts and coffee?”

“You’re drinking coffee,” Bucky points out.

He slams the rest of it back like a shot and sets the purple mug on the counter “Your point?”

Bucky shakes his head. “You’re so goddamn weird, you know that?”

Clint throws his arms out wide. “There’s two types of people in the world, Barnes. The ones that entertain, and the ones that observe.”

“And you’re a put-on-a-show kind of girl?”

He can see the _exact_ moment when Clint registers what he said, because Bucky’s just about blinded by the brilliant smile that follows. “Exactly,” Clint says, and he hops off the counter. Bucky can’t help but smile back. “Come on, then. I’m calling the shots, and I say it’s time for donuts.”

“I’m in,” Bucky says, and he follows Clint out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)


End file.
